STYLE IS A FRAUD

SIERRA VENTURA
STYLE IS A FRAUD

I find it very hard to abstract

myself from the my own desperate

attempts at art, how do you help

a void, how do you clear space,

I tried to tremble but all I do is float,

the scariest idea to me is simply being,

most days I watch the walls, waiting

until my third eye starts to hurt, all

to often, all of a sudden, I forget

the line, a mantra precisely for no

one, its a must among these circles,

I am not above clich, I am all about

clich, I have a free attitude towards

most things, certain things have to

prove themselves, they must, even if

my vision is absolutely impossible
IF AND WHEN I EXIT MY BODY

surrender me to a garden.
Dont let me dry out in the window,
like little lavender roses all in a row.

Ive been forsaken before, Ive suffered

for simple songs on sun soaked peaks,
been caught in the chaos of a chemical bath,

separated from the physical realm, a mere

mental state set aside for another time and

place. Other planes, as celestial as possible,

open after being folded towards a flame in my mouth.

I am not a beacon, if and when I exit my

body, so leave my corporeal form behind.

Disregard the potentiality of other beings

seeping through the cracks in my exterior,

all those different names for the same thing,

just words taken from a lifeless lady.
I, ANXIOUS

In these sick times / I keep to myself

The clock strikes a chord. Found in nothing more

than a pleasantly painful goodbye, a spill
of wine. The dirt under my fingernails
that graze a jacket / an uncomfortable
embrace, societal obligations stemming from
the fact I have to hug sixteen strangers in yr doorway.

You, being the beacon of deceit,

you, the condensation on the table,
you, the last sips of bourbon from the bottle.

Glaciers projected on the whitest of walls.

A journey, for which, I am not prepared.

When the floor is shattered, and my shoes hidden

in the depths of my scatter plot sentience,
my absence is recorded by passing through haze.
Im losing myself in the smoke of a thousand cigarettes.

Youre spitting in the toilet.

and Im listening to yr turbid voice
as it cracks along the mirror.

Theres safety in the bathroom,

theres simplicity in the sink,

outside of consciousness,
my body seethes.
433433433433433433

white noise becomes

pressure when passing

you on the way down,

Im sheer static, honestly

Im doubtful that
anything exists,

when I become a
one winged angel

Ill forgive you

forever and send

you to hell, this

is compassion in

a hyperbolic chamber,
a shoulder to seethe on

when words lose

form, but remember

nothing matters so
you might as well

catch fire
for an

enlightened
evacuation,

ascend in the
atmosphere
 Near the End of the road
was a Man who tried
to show us hIs third eye,
Liars are a constant
for Yesterdays miseries

the summEr only

protects us for so long froM
backwoods savIors, tennis court
racketeers, mantras are just meLodies
for Young girls on the go

just ask any real pErson

theyll Mind their business
and wIther away,
nostaLgia ends all things,
moneY only lasts so long

whEn your Catholic

and Missing teeth
the sun shInes in your mouth
it was never about chakras or Luck
it was about You, melting on the pavement
FIVE MESOSTICS FOR ZONEITA HELENE VENTURA

wHen did i become

the shaking revErberations
breathing in haLlways
evEn my mother locks
the doors, Nothing can
quEll the frantic buzz

deep in the Hellacious

cavErns of suburban
bLiss,
where everything Ends
and Nothing retains
that endlEss familiarity.

im not even afraid of deatH anymore

shE
taught me it as a Lie
in greEner grasses
near Noxious fences.
now i bathE in static,

sometHing constant enough

to keEp us together.
little white pilLs
in candy dishEs,
nothing Like the
transcEndental barbiturate bullshit

from wHen she was

falling off motorcyclEs.
spent Lifetimes
making my own Evaluations
uNder a haze of
hEr happening.
CONCUSSED

I
took
looking at
glazed screens
for granted. In

brief
moments I
remember the
breath of the
mundane,

a place where
I am
not slurring
my thoughts.
I made a scene in my mind
A sort of place where shit

like this is eternal, its near

and collapsing in the hall

That which bears light and

forms syntax with witchcraft

Bleeding flowers first until

I am lit matches, mouthfuls

of bourbon fields, disturbances

in the rolling hills of ancient

sentences, words are the only

source, before it took more out

of me, it was a game, I was told,

see the stanzas melting through

me, the return to form, breaking

the bounds I watched grow out

of Petrarchs omens, permission

asks what meter can bleed today
 eventuAlly
Time takes its
assIgnments to harvest,
sicker than aVenging
something thAts
waxed and waNed

i am sAturated
and Too lousy for
thIs plane, not
enough Void to hold onto,
allow it overwhelm and exhAust
the pleasaNt rifts

And send me to hell

where the dirT is sweet,
Irrelevance under yesterdays
moon, fluorescent white Veins
ascending towArd enlightenment,
a Nothing for the ages
 pretend its After
all the awfuL parts,
rememBer when
comeUppance was a
only a vacaTion away
Even though the
hymns have been hoaRded
and my heart is on the Outside
Leaving this behind is

A real possibility,
licking boots of the Labor
only Begat trained
psalms brUising in the wind,
i think of riTuals
anything to Evacuate
and sign a Release form,
Only then is freedom
seen and Lunged on
WE HAVE NO PICTURE OF IT

life today is
very bewildering

we must find
dependence

on authority a feeling
of inferiority

presumes a spirit of
adventurousness
and this fact
we want from

materials
is made of

earlier civilizations
on the other hand

is the field
a glimpse of exhilaration

and a longing
for excitement

the most intense

excitement as the transformed
wish for stability
faced with the immense

understood as convention
provoke us to test ourselves against

the material
as the dominating

element is left to
a consciousness of developments

it is an
eternal order
winter makes

sparks

in the trees

trees kept

in contact

with the cold

who sets

their bodies

a flame

who struck

the first match

took the

first of many

cool blows
fields of Violence
risIng from the sun!
not Rockets ready to
reGister for the
eventual Evaporation
gNawing at your feet

no, its Deaths haze,

thE endless eschaton

fraGrant like ashes,

Used up roses
the leftover lorDs
under All-knowing light,
onLy in the depths
is the unconscioUs
is Pain
apprEciated